* * *
The next time he comes, there are daffodils in the room. Bright yellow daffodils that Mrs B has picked and put in a glass vase. ‘There are no flowers where I live. Nothing grows,’ he grumbles.
‘These are beautiful, aren’t they?’ I reply. ‘I’ve always loved daffodils. They’re a sign that spring has arrived.’
‘Ah, spring,’ he sighs. ‘What I would give to be in a meadow in springtime.’ He sighs again then and I sense that burgeoning shoot of light in his heart growing a little stronger. ‘I never appreciated flowers when I was alive.’
‘What did you appreciate?’ I ask.
He searches for the answer. When he finds it, it does not satisfy him. He ruminates on it for a while, wondering whether or not to divulge it. I sense his shame. It is hard for spirits to hide their feelings when they don’t have bodies with which to conceal them. ‘This is a beautiful room, isn’t it,’ he says, as if seeing it for the first time. ‘The colours are beautiful.’ He sighs again, a heavy sigh full of longing. ‘It would be nice to have some colour where I live. I wouldn’t have to have much. Just a vase of flowers, like these daffodils. Or some colour on the walls. My soul grows sick of the dark.’
‘Tell me about Gabriel,’ I ask. I know that Gabriel is at the core of his pain.
‘He was a cripple,’ he tells me again.
‘How did that make you feel?’
He turns on me then. ‘How do you think it made me feel?’ he snarls. ‘He was unnatural.’
‘Unnatural?’ I retort. ‘Nothing that God creates is unnatural.’
‘He brought shame on my family name,’ he growls and I realize that he is not yet ready to see the error of his ways.
‘Did he like flowers?’ I ask.
Tarquin stares at the daffodils and the little shoot of light flickers slightly. ‘He loved flowers,’ he says quietly. ‘He loved nature.’ Then he turns again and the light dies. ‘But he put his hand in the pond to stroke the fish and he drowned. The idiot!’
* * *
When he comes again I decide to be a little tougher on him. ‘Why do you think you dwell in a miserable place with no light or colour?’ I ask. ‘Why aren’t you in Heaven?’
‘I don’t know,’ he replies. ‘Don’t you think I’d do something about it if I knew?’
‘Might it not have something to do with the life you lived?’
He turns his attention away from the music and stares at me. ‘I lived in a fine castle. I had great wealth and power. I had people who worked for me, people who depended on me. My clothes were made of the finest silk and velvet. My horses were the most superior beasts in the land.’
‘But you had a son who was a cripple,’ I remind him. ‘How did he fit in to your world of fine clothes and horses?’
‘Why do you bring him up again?’ he demands.
‘You had other children, I assume. Did they bring you shame too?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Your eldest, Peregrine, inherited the castle. I bet he was a perfect reflection of you.’
‘He was everything a son should be,’ he replies.
‘Perfect in body, just like your stallions, I imagine.’
‘I know what you’re doing, Kitty Deverill. You’re trying to shame me into admitting that I was wrong to treat the cripple badly.’
‘Did you treat him badly?’
He looks away. ‘I didn’t want him in my sight.’
‘Because he was an embarrassment.’
‘He wasn’t fit to be seen.’
‘Of course he wasn’t, not in your lavish home, with your lavish furnishings and important friends.’
He knows how that makes him sound and he doesn’t like it. ‘He was slow. Slow in mind,’ he adds, in order to excuse himself. ‘Only his mother could abide him. They spent all their time in the tower, reading, or walking in the garden. Always together, the two of them.’
‘Did you resent her for that?’
He pauses as once again he searches for an answer that, when found, does not satisfy. ‘She was no wife to me,’ he replies at length. ‘She was too soft-hearted. She only had eyes for the boy.’
‘She loved Gabriel,’ I say.
‘Yes, she did,’ he concedes. ‘She loved her helpless little boy.’
‘And you resented her because you did not.’
He turns away. ‘I could not.’ And there it is, the pain in the guilt now seeping into his heart. His conscience is slowly awakening.
‘Did you ever look into his eyes, Tarquin?’
‘Why would that have made a difference?’ he asks.
‘Did you?’
‘No.’
‘If you look into a person’s eyes, you see beyond the body, into the soul. To the person they really are. Gabriel was a beautiful soul, Tarquin. Your wife knew that.’
‘I couldn’t look at him.’
The music reaches a sublime climax. Tarquin is stirred by it. I seize my moment. ‘He was just a boy,’ I say. ‘An innocent boy just wanting to be loved.’
He cannot speak. He remains listening to the music. But I noticed his energy soften. I sense regret. He puts a hand on his heart. I know there is nothing more for me to say. I leave him there, his hand trying to smother the light that is now flooding into his heart, for it is painful, that light. It brings with it realization. It cannot be avoided. His evil deeds are slowly emerging into his consciousness in all their horrible truth.
Perhaps he is realizing now that the hell in which he is living is of his own making.
Chapter 16
In May Dan Chambers arrived at the hotel with Dorothy, having by coincidence taken the same flight from London. Margot was thrilled to see them and embraced them both warmly. ‘We’ve had such an interesting conversation in the taxi,’ Dorothy told her as they waited at reception. ‘Dan sees dead people all the time, fancy that?’
‘Not all the time,’ he corrected her with a smile. ‘I’m able to switch it off when I need to.’
‘Like a television,’ said Dorothy. ‘Isn’t he clever!’
Dan was tall and elegant, with thick greying hair, intelligent pearl-grey eyes and a kind, noble face. He was a dapper dresser, in a beautifully cut pale grey suit, pink-and-grey-striped Hermès tie and black lace-up shoes that shone like mirrors. With a quiet charisma and easy-going nature, he was the sort of man who charmed everyone he met and Dorothy was no exception. ‘He’s handsome, isn’t he?’ she whispered to Margot. ‘Although I’m old enough to be his mother.’
‘Only just,’ Margot replied. She caught Dan’s eye and they both grinned.
‘Can you see anyone yet?’ asked Dorothy keenly.
Margot frowned. ‘I thought you were afraid of ghosts,’ she said.
‘Dan has reassured me that they’re friends not foe. However, I still don’t want to see one in the middle of the night.’
‘This place is full of spirit energies,’ he said to Margot. ‘I’m going to have my work cut out for me here.’
‘Well, you’ll have lots of people to deal with too. It seems that all the locals believe they see ghosts. I’ve never known so many superstitious people in one place,’ Margot replied.
‘They’re not wrong. It’s busy,’ he said, running his eyes around the hall. ‘Beautiful place, though, isn’t it?’
‘Very,’ Margot agreed. ‘I’ve been enjoying living here since January.’
‘You fall on your feet, don’t you?’ he said with a chuckle.
‘It’s not always as good as this.’
‘Of course not. Make hay while the sun shines, is my philosophy.’
‘Mine too,’ said Dorothy. ‘It’s lovely to be back. Just lovely.’
* * *
Margot followed Dorothy to her bedroom on the first floor, near the stairs that led up to Margot’s tower. It had a four-poster bed, blue floral wallpaper and matching curtains. There were seats in the window recesses and outside the windows was a view of the box garden, which was cultivated into
a maze. ‘Tell me, my dear, how is the book coming along?’
Margot sat on the bed as Dorothy unpacked. ‘It’s going to be really good,’ she said. ‘Thanks to JP’s boxes of records, I’ve been able to bring all his ancestors to life.’
‘They’re an extraordinary family,’ said Dorothy, hanging up her coat in the wardrobe.
‘I think it’ll do very well for the hotel.’
‘Mrs de Lisle is no fool. That’s why she invited me here.’
‘Of course. Shrewd is the word I’d use.’
‘And why she introduced me to the Countess di Marcantonio.’
‘I suppose she wants the book to be as spicy as possible. Scandal sells, after all. You only have to look at our tabloid newspapers.’
‘In that case, I don’t think she’ll get what she wants. It’s not going to be that sort of book.’
‘Quite right, Margot. Still, it’ll bring people flocking to the hotel, especially Americans. They love the Irish and I suspect they enjoy an English title too.’
‘They want JP to give talks here.’
‘What does he say about that?’
‘I haven’t mentioned it.’
‘Is he up to it?’
‘If you mean, has he relapsed? No, he hasn’t. You wouldn’t recognize him, Dorothy. He’s a changed man.’
Dorothy was surprised. ‘How wonderful. A real credit to you and Colm for supporting him through it.’
‘Colm and his father are getting along very well.’
Dorothy looked concerned. ‘Does his mother know about this?’
‘I don’t think so. Why? Don’t you think she’ll be pleased?’
‘I think she rather enjoyed the fact that Colm supported her.’
‘Colm is JP’s son too. He belongs to both of them. It’s a good thing that he’s made up with his father. It’s a really good thing that he’s encouraged him to clean up his act. She’ll be very surprised when she next sees JP. It’s taken a lot of will-power for him to do what he’s done. She should celebrate it. She should also encourage reconciliation. Colm loves both of them. It would be nice if they could all get along.’
Dorothy closed her empty suitcase. ‘So, you’re still seeing a lot of Colm, are you?’
‘A fair bit,’ Margot replied breezily.
Dorothy was not fooled by her nonchalance. ‘I always knew you two would like each other. He’s handsome, isn’t he?’
‘What? Like Dan?’ said Margot with a grin.
‘Dan bats for the other side,’ Dorothy replied, a knowing look in her eye. ‘You, on the other hand, are very much Colm’s type.’
‘How do you know what Colm’s type is? How do you know he’s my type?’
‘Because you look much too well for someone who’s been locked away writing a history book.’
‘I’ve been riding out with JP.’
‘You’ve been riding out with Colm, too.’
Margot sighed. ‘Okay, Dorothy. You win. I like Colm. I like him a lot. But I can’t let anyone know that I like him.’
Dorothy sat on the window seat and folded her hands in her lap. ‘I see.’
‘As you know, Dorothy, it’s complicated.’
Dorothy nodded sympathetically. ‘I understand just how complicated it is.’
‘You’re the only person I can talk to.’
‘I’m flattered, Margot, that you should feel you can talk to me and share these things. But what about your mother? Do you confide in her?’
‘My mother and I haven’t spoken in years. She probably wouldn’t recognize me if I walked through her front door. She’s never been interested in me. In fact, I’d go as far to say that I’m an inconvenience. The last time I saw her, which was about six years ago, she couldn’t wait for me to be gone. She has a young lover so I suspect having a daughter of my age betrays her own age, which she probably tries very hard to hide.’ Margot shrugged then lowered her eyes because the compassion in Dorothy’s was too sincere.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Dorothy said softly.
‘I’m over it. I look out for myself.’
Dorothy sighed. ‘You know, you’re much more complex than you look,’ she said.
‘I know. But I try not to define myself by my past and the people who brought me into the world. And, you know what? I’m doing fine.’
‘You most certainly are.’
‘Shall we go downstairs and have some tea?’
‘What a good idea.’
‘If you’re lucky, you’ll see the Countess in there, spouting lies about her husband’s ancestral home.’
‘I do hope so,’ said Dorothy with a smile. ‘She sounds very entertaining.’
Margot sighed and stood up. ‘You have no idea!’
* * *
They did not find the Countess in the dining room, which was disappointing, but they did find Dan. He was standing in the entrance, waiting to be shown to a table. ‘Mind if we join you?’ said Margot.
Dan smiled, pleased to see her. ‘What perfect timing,’ he replied.
‘So, Dan, when is your first session?’ Margot asked when they were sitting down and enjoying their tea.
‘Tomorrow,’ he said.
‘What will happen?’ Dorothy asked a little anxiously. ‘Are we going to see anything?’
‘Unlikely,’ Dan replied. ‘I do the seeing for you.’
‘And you’ll see ghosts?’
‘Spirits, earthbound spirits and ghosts. I’m sure I’ll see a bit of everything.’
Margot looked bewildered. ‘What’s the difference between them? I thought a ghost was a ghost.’
‘There are very important differences,’ he said. ‘Most people are ignorant of what sets them apart, but let me tell you.’ He settled his grey eyes onto Dorothy who gazed eagerly into them. ‘What you saw in your bedroom was likely to be an earthbound spirit.’
‘The cleaning ghost?’ said Margot, grinning at Dorothy.
‘Not a ghost,’ Dan corrected her. ‘Ghosts are simply energy trapped here on the earth plane. Rather like a two-dimensional film of a person or an event that has happened in the past. For example, Anne Boleyn haunting the corridor of the Tower of London is not her. She’s long gone. It’s her energy that is stuck because of trauma, repeating itself over and over again. In time it will fade. You hear stories of people hearing the sound of battle in places where there was once horrific conflict. The Somme and the Battle of Hastings are just two examples. The soldiers aren’t still there, fighting on in spirit. It’s the trauma that’s stuck and somehow repeats itself on a loop.’
‘What’s my housekeeping ghost then, if she’s not a ghost?’ asked Dorothy.
‘She’s an earthbound spirit. A person who has died yet doesn’t move on into the light.’
‘Why wouldn’t she move on?’
‘There are many reasons. Fear of where she’s going. A strong desire to remain where she is. Sometimes, people don’t realize they are dead. They exist in a strange, dreamlike state where there is no time.’
‘How do they find their way to Heaven, then?’ asked Dorothy anxiously, hoping very much that she wouldn’t wind up as one of those.
‘They eventually do. Mediums like me step in and help move them on. They have guides in spirit who eventually get through to them. Some spirits are happy to stay, believing that what they already have is Heaven enough for them. If they knew what awaited them in the next life they wouldn’t be so keen to remain here.’
‘And spirits?’ Margot asked, surprised at her own, genuine interest in a subject that had previously bored her.
‘Those are the people we love who have moved on into what you’d call Heaven, coming back to be near us. To guide us, help us in our daily lives or simply to enjoy being with us. Those you love never leave you. We are all connected by love.’
‘Does that mean my loved ones are with me sometimes?’ asked Dorothy with a tender smile.
‘They most definitely are, Dorothy,’ said Dan and the certainty with whic
h he said it was deeply reassuring.
‘That’s nice,’ she said. ‘I like to think of them paying me visits every now and then.’ Suddenly her smile faltered. She bit her lip and her eyes betrayed an old sorrow from long ago. ‘It’s nice to think that those we love and lose are never really lost.’
Margot hoped it was true. She, too, liked to think of her father supporting her in spirit, although he’d never supported her in life. She wanted to ask Dan why he’d be any different up there. If he hadn’t cared for her during his lifetime, why would he suddenly care for her now that he was dead? But she didn’t. Perhaps he hadn’t loved her. Perhaps that was just the way it was.
‘When you mentioned Heaven, you said, what you’d call Heaven. What do you call it?’ Margot asked.
‘There are many levels to go through before we reach Nirvana,’ Dan replied. ‘Heaven is a blissful place, full of love and light and beauty, but it is not the end of the journey. It’s just another step along the way.’
‘I think I’ll be tired when I get there,’ said Dorothy, taking a breath and brushing away the emotion that had, without warning, crept up on her. ‘I think I’ll stay at that level for a while. I’m not bothered about reaching the end of my journey. If it’s a nice place and I’m with the people I love, what’s wrong with staying there for eternity?’
Dan laughed. ‘I suspect the soul yearns for more,’ he said.
‘Sounds exhausting, if you ask me.’ She reached for a sandwich. ‘I hope my soul doesn’t yearn for more and gives me a rest! I’ll settle for a place of love, light and beauty, thank you very much.’
Margot was pleased that Dan and Dorothy had arrived. She felt she now had allies in the hotel and not just in the Hunting Lodge. She hoped Dan’s events would be successful so he’d be asked back. It was she who had recommended him. If he wasn’t any good, Mr Dukelow would be very unhappy with her.
* * *
Margot met Colm later at his house, which was really a small cottage on the edge of town, positioned up a short driveway and hidden behind a thick beech hedge. He had moved back to it at last, giving them the freedom to meet whenever they felt like it. She liked the cosiness of his sitting room and his bedroom under the eaves. She relished it being just the two of them. In Ballinakelly, it seemed that they had an awful lot of time. It didn’t matter that she returned to the hotel in the mornings. She was at liberty to come and go as and when she pleased. Even Mr Dukelow’s raised eyebrows did not faze her.
The Distant Shores Page 25